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Famous Gordon Roddick Quotes

“FLUENT LOVE Time dark obscure Faded into love’s magic As we lay out separate hearts, Tragic, Eyes bled the souls’ Hidden secrets as we fled To the goals Of fluent love. Our hearts melting Ran down to our loins, A swollen molten mass united No joins We merged so fluid And raised our single voice in thanks To the druid Of fluent love. We smoked our single Cigarette singing, Our single song Ringing To the sad sun, so certain Of winter’s morning cold Behind the curtain Of fluent love.”

LifePhilosophyWisdomPoetryTimePoemContemplationAttributed No SourceLove Reflection
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“Now I understand the silence, Now that he told me That you had passed by, He told me it was four months That you had clamoured about me, It’s sad that I didn’t realise That it was you. He said that in the fourth month, I had confided that you had clamoured For my understanding, that you had Only wanted to pluck out my entrails And examine them, that you wanted my life, He says you went away bearing my child. Now I understand this silence, It would be wrong to say how sorry I am That I could not give you myself, It would be wrong to say sorry that I Could not give you the kind of life you need.”

LoveLifePhilosophyPoetryPoemContemplationAttributed No SourceGordon Roddick
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“I call him “Old Bold-Stones” Within a ribbed structure built not unlike a cage Yet, not having the same quality of confinement, The open box of the day was lying Lid unhinged to a swing of mourning whales all dressed in widowhoods. Sunset's blood threw a spotted sop – That kaleidoscope in the spout Of the great sperm-son's vent. Come, crash me thunderdown. Come, flash me whipplecrack. Wave winged Sweat wet. Frond weed. Pondweed. And as thunderdown of policemen Shouting the empty place neath The arches of the once-red now Brown, grey sandstone bridge, Trout with a suspicion of feet lurking quiet in unseen spaces between frond weed and bold stones.”

LifePhilosophyPoetryPoemContemplationAttributed No SourceGordon Roddick
Author:Gordon Roddick
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“I am sure If I were An artist I would concentrate On the bone end Of a bird’s broken wing Or the bullet hole In cold, damp, dead flesh And the transition from death’s cold warmth To the putrefaction Of a biochemical mess And I am sure If I were An artist That these dead and dying things Which are within themselves Beauty Would bring me closer To her life And to her Beauty Which is beauty within itself”

LoveLifePhilosophyPoemContemplationAttributed No SourcePoetry Life
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“There was no reason Why I was sitting there Poised firmly on the edge Of a visible silence A terrible leashed quiet as though The dogs of hell had rushed by Five jaw-snapping minutes earlier Dragging this concert of silence behind them Tied to their tails by An eternal (endless) string. I, there, sitting Poised firmly on the edge And wondering why there was no hope. But no one told me Ever ...”

LoveLifePhilosophyPoemContemplationAttributed No SourcePoetry Love
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“What a fucking tapestry woven by mad and sensitive egos; sometimes, the flatulence of words blows the intention out the window, but it is just a few steps backwards. I get so near to getting into detail about people and things, then like a pinball machine, my thoughts bang off sideways to some other peg and hang there for a nanosecond only to be tossed on somewhere else. Where is that still, quiet place of examination?”

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